


The Moon Boy and the Forest Boy

by fatalize



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatalize/pseuds/fatalize
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“At first I thought I wanted a change. And maybe I did, and I still do. But before I broke the glass, I felt something. Your voice. I’m sure of it.”</p><p>(loosely based on the picture book from Yuri Kuma Arashi!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon Boy and the Forest Boy

**i.**

There is a boy who lives on the moon.

The boy on the moon wants for nothing.

He whispers with the closest stars, chases speedy comet tails, and makes his toys out of moondust. He dances with supernova songs and listens to the melodies of galaxies, reveling in beauty each and every day. 

There is no strife on the moon. There are no disturbances or tragedies or curses. The boy may have never even heard those words before in his life. His life is regulated, serene--peaceful and pristine, most would say.

At the same time every day his mother calls, beckoning him back to the house, saying, “Sweetie! Dinner is ready, won’t you have some?” in a soft voice, a lulling voice, the closest thing there is to gravity on this glowing crater-land.

Countless delicacies are displayed before him; every day his mother makes anything from cherry cakes to salty stews, assorted fruit baskets and the finest kinds of breads, all baked to crisp perfection. Every day he smiles and thanks his mother by kissing her cheek, then goes up to his room where his shirts have all been pressed and his shoes are polished, and the first aid kit that lies in the corner of the room remains forever untouched, never opened, most likely never going to be opened.

There is a boy who lives on the moon, living a perfect and happy life.

The boy on the moon is a lonely lad.

He opens a book from his bookshelf and reads of Lost Boys living forever young together, in a happy land much like his own. The stories make him smile, but also make him feel something else he can’t quite label. He has his mother to keep him company, and with her he doesn’t feel lonesome, but even so he realizes he is the only lost boy on the entire moon, and wonders where the others might be, if there could be others.

Usually he forgets the preoccupation quickly, dismissing it as a silly worry and thinking its nice that the story characters will always have each other to play with. But tonight a certain emptiness lingers for longer than he’d like, and for once he can’t shake it on his own. So, as he always does at a time like this, he turns his attention outside and asks the stars for guidance.

 _Stars,_ he says, sticking his head out of his square window,  _you are so beautiful and bright. Almost like my mother. Why do you stay so far from us?_

 _Shion,_  they respond, for by now they have learned the boy’s name,  _why must you look so sad? Does the distance between us bother you so much? We talk to you; you play with the comets and moondust; your mother gives you everything you could wish. What could possibly be wrong?_

Shion fidgets; they’re right. He’s happy. He lives in a dream, made of fairytale moonglow and heart-riches. Who else is so lucky to speak with the stars? Who else may find fulfillment amongst these smooth white craters?

And yet: his eyes wander to the first aid kit in the corner.

 _There’s nothing wrong,_  he tells them.  _It just feels like there’s something...missing._  When the stars sing, he dances; when his mother calls, he comes; when there is food placed out, they eat. But what of the first aid kit, with no purpose but to keep to the corner and collect dust?

The stars chuckle, and Shion smiles briefly--the laughter of stars is something always guaranteed to lighten one’s soul, although a bit difficult to pin down in exact words. Some days he would spend his time doing whatever he could to make the stars snicker and titter; it made his heart calm and put his mind at ease. But his cares were not so easy to dismiss tonight.

 _It seems you have realized,_  they say.

 _Realized what?_  he queries.

_That something needs to change._

_Change? But things are good here,_  Shion replies, a bit perplexed. The kit left a minor uneasiness in him, true, but it was nothing big, he thought. Not enough for  _change_  to take place.

_But you feel it, don’t you?_

_Feel what?_

_Desire._

_Desire?_

_Desire to grow._

A pause. And then,  _To grow?_

But the stars hold steadfast to their silence.

Shion sighs and turns from his window, crawling instead to bed and wrapping his covers over himself. He flips through his book idly, landing on a page with an illustration, of a forest with fairies and tall trees, things he was content with seeing on a page and never cared to see in real life. But now, he questions: Does a tree in real life look like a tree here? Will there come a day when I see a real tree? If they’re even real at all?

Over and over he repeats the three words to himself:  _desire to grow, desire to grow, desire to grow..._

He counts them like sheep, at first, but tires of that quickly; then he turns them into clouds, having them float across the sky like he’s seen in his picture books; then, finally, he morphs them into a delicate snowfall, turning the trees in his mind from vibrant green to delicate white.

And finally, possibly, he may understand what the stars mean.

* * *

 

**ii.**

There is a boy who lives in a forest.

The forest boy looks up with malice at the moon.

Nights among the trees are never easy anymore. It is dark and humid as the flora and fauna sweat out their fear, and the constant pound of footsteps resound like a persistent pattering of rain through the woods, unrelenting.

Nights are never peaceful anymore, and it’s all the fault of strangers. The stars used to dance here, would lend their light to lost travelers, guide them with a simple glow. The people used to smile here, used to laugh from their stomachs and live with twinkles in their eyes. This place was called a home, a refuge, a shelter. But that was all up until the people with the flame-carriers came, and ever since they’ve been charring everything they could find, blackening the place and turning it into a true abyss.

People aren’t trustworthy, the boy’s come to decide. Not anymore. Not after all that’s happened. He can only feel hatred and resentment root and fester in the core of his chest. He waters it with his rage, like a thirsty plant, promising to let it grow so the forest won’t be turned to ashes and forgotten completely.

The foot-thumps feel like background noise now; he’s probably far away enough for a moment of rest. He scans his surroundings, settling his sights on a tall gnarled tree.  _This will do for now,_  he decides. He takes one step, two steps, three steps, and--

He trips over something--a few different somethings--solid and hard. He glances back.

They’re a group of skulls. 

Round and white as the moon above.

He tries to get to his feet quickly, attempting to forget the sight quickly and turn and climb up his spotted tree, but he’s stuck. He looks at them, stares at them, frozen in place. It’s not that he hasn’t seen skulls before. Oh no, Nezumi the rat has scurried his way through hills of human heads, brushed past bodies of people he knew and spoke to only hours before. The sight of a skull is nothing new.

But that doesn’t mean he ever got used to seeing them.

And the fact that there are three make it no easier. Images begin to race through his mind--of his sister--barely three, adorned in a crown of flowers--his mother--her smiling face, her dress getting torn to pieces--his father--licks of fire latching onto his pale skin--

Nezumi finally manages to tear himself away, clutching the fabric near his chest, heaving heartbeats against his ribcage.  _Breathe. Slowly,_  he reminds himself.  _Get to your feet. Keep moving._  The instructions are simple, and logically he knows it, yet his body struggles to cease its shaking. He clutches the cloth tighter, reminding himself that he is still whole, clinging to the darkness that’s buried beneath, that pushes him forward. He gets one foot on the ground. Then the other. And then--

_BANG!_

Both feet slide out from under him as a searing shot flies into his shoulder, embedding itself in clammy flesh. Panic grips him, takes him by the hand and pushes him forward, forcing him to move in any direction as long as it’s  _away_.

He can hear the footsteps and voices but doesn’t look behind him, doesn’t even spare it a thought. He tries to climb the tree. Somehow, their bullets decide to miss him.

As he climbs he sees the moon, still floating in its same place in the sky, ever-glowing.  _Why?_  he begins to think.  _Why do you still watch over a night that’s no longer benign? Why do you sit up there, looking down on us, not doing a damn thing?_

His foot slips; he grips the bark; his shoulder screams in pain.

A bullet is a centimeter away from hitting his hip.

Desperately he pulls himself higher, clenching his teeth, devoting his attention to the closest branch rather than the throbbing ache. He lifts himself up onto the gnarled wood, then quickly moves to an adjacent one, hiding himself from the view of his pursuers.

His breaths come in rasps; the pain is dull but constant as adrenaline bursts in his bones. And it won’t go away. He knows whatever they shot him with won’t let the wound clot. He almost feels like the blood on his arm is leaking out through each beat of his heart.  _One, two, three, four..._  how many until the palpitations slow and the blood ceases to flow?

He sits there alone, listening to the strange rhythm. Nothing truly is the same anymore. Even his own heartbeat sounds funny and foreign to him.

The night around him is hot and damp, making it hard to breathe as he sucks in oxygen that’s half-water. This place is no longer the wonderland he once knew. He grows the sapling of hatred in his soul so as not to forget, but finds he has no more reasons to be attached to the physical world around him anymore. There are no longer people with songs, but torches. The animals, the lucky ones, have retreated, like the smart creatures they are. There is nothing here that he loves.

And yet: the moon still remains.

Nezumi turns to face it, and finds to his surprise a subtle light rectangle lies at the base of the branch he’s sitting on--followed by another one next to it--and another one, the light steps continuing on and on, each a little higher than the last. It’s a staircase, leading straight to that useless white rock in the sky.

He’s hallucinating, he thinks. But if he’s going to die anyway, does it even matter? Does staying here really matter?

He lifts himself up against the trunk. Clutches his wound. Takes a step forward.

And begins to ascend.

* * *

 

**iii.**

When he awakes later, the house is still. Quiet.

Shion rises out of bed with an air of resolution.

He gets ready for the day as per usual, going through his mundane habits before returning to his room to get the first aid kit. He does not turn to the stars for advice; he grabs the silver handle, never touched until now, and heads downstairs.

He does not know exactly where he is going, but knows today he is going to end up somewhere. Somewhere different. A feeling he has deep inside that he can’t explain twists him up and propels his feet forward; the only thing on his mind is moving forward.

The table downstairs lies unset, his mother not at her usual position in front of the stove. Perhaps she’s still sleeping. He takes it as another sign that today will bring change, and that it’s supposed to.

What was the word used in his books for this feeling? Was it destiny?

“I’m heading out,” he says, more out of habit than anything else, pushing the front door open and stepping onto the moon’s blemished surface.

Once outside, he sees nothing. He walks for a little bit, passes by the places he typically spends time in. However, slowly, subtly, wonder and doubt begin to creep up on him. The moon has always been an empty expanse. What exactly is he hoping to find?

He turns around to look at his house. His mother in there in the window now, cleaning the cabinets, her back turned.

He could go back if he wanted. He could abandon the impulse that drove him to leave the house, apologize for breaking routine, spend another day molding moondust to carry out his fantasies.

Shion shakes his head.

No. The compelling desire in his core won’t let him spend another day playing only with imagination. He’s on the brink of something new, so close he can almost feel it, feel his toes on the edge of a precipice as his mind beckons him to take the dive.

His resolve is reaffirmed. He keeps walking. He walks and walks and walks until his legs begin to grow weary. Eventually something glittering catches his eye, and he sees it--this is what he came for, he recognizes immediately.

It’s a stairway, leading downwards. The steps are crystalline, akin to the stars. He clenches his fist. Fills his lungs. Releases the breath slowly.

Then takes the first step down.

The descent down the stairs feels longer than the small journey he took to find it. The surroundings around him gradually blend, from the black and white of space and stars to a mix, a grey sort of color that swirls. Eventually it settles on a breathtaking light grey, the kind of color Shion had never seen in his life before, and for reasons unbeknownst to him it urges him on.

After many, many steps, with nothing to accompany him but the grey and the quietude, he makes it to a floor that’s entirely a mirror. He looks at his own reflection, that of a young child, innocent and gentle, but most strikingly, perhaps, excited. Exhilarated. Enthralled.

 _What should I do? Break it?_  he finds himself asking the stars for guidance at first before realizing they’re no longer around him.

 _Break it,_  a voice answers.

It takes him a moment to realize the voice is his own.

_Destroy it._

_Destroy what?_  he asks, warily.

_Everything._

_Everything?_

His eyes fall to the first aid kit in his hand, then the mirror. Despite himself, he hesitates.

The glass before him is so  _perfect_ \--crystal clear, not a scratch or a mark to be found. It’s beautiful. Too beautiful to break. He wants to leave it be.

But an instinct within him tells him that there’s something on the other side. And that something is not himself. Whatever it is, it’s the reason he came here, the reason he brought the first aid kit. Something on the other side needs this--needs him.

And although it is too perfect to shatter, Shion can’t help but think that makes all the more reason he should.

He takes a deep breath,  
brings down the kit,  
and screams.

* * *

 

**iv.**

The climb up the stairs is endless, but Nezumi feels as though he’s got all the time in the world.

 _Drip, drip._  Blood droplets fall to the steps, then vanish. He clings to his shoulder without knowing why. All thoughts flee his mind, and a single impulse pulls him forward.

Is it hope? Desire? The will to live?

Whatever it is, it leads him to climb until he has no strength left. The scenery around him has faded into what he thinks is a purple haze, and a fruity smell invades the air around him--a hallucination, he dismisses quickly. From the blood loss.

He makes his way forward, pushing on, until he finally reaches a dead end--a ceiling that looks like a mirror blocks his path.

He sighs, then sucks the breath back in. He knew he would not find anything. So the sight isn’t really disappointing. He feels peaceful, almost. Relieved. 

He settles himself on one of the steps, drenching the lightness with thick blood, thinking that finally, finally, he may close his eyes and rest. They narrow into slits, letting in just a bit of the glitter that floats around him, and then--

\--he hears a  _scream_.

His eyelids pry themselves open wider as glass falls like snowflakes around him, dancing in their dazzling shimmer. Something else is falling among them, also sparkling and silver, but not glass--no much, thicker, much wider--some sort of box?

The other object opens up and falls toward him, and he braces himself for the impact, but the moment it hits him it cloaks him in moon dust, the white powder seeping into his wounds and making him brand new again.

He’s a little dazed--more than a little dazed--he’s dumbstruck. After all, this all can’t be real, not something as absurd as this. Not something as miraculous as this. He must be dead now. But still he glances up, and through an opening sees a boy with looks much different than himself, smiling down at him.

“Found you!” the boy says.

An amalgam of emotions swirl in Nezumi all at once, and he’s not quite sure what to make of them; all he knows is his heart is fluttering in his chest once again, but this time the pulse feels normal, familiar--just like the set of straightforward eyes locking gleefully with his.

* * *

 

**v.**

“I’m from the moon,” the boy begins. “My name’s Shion."

A pause. “Like the flower?” the other boy says, voice husky.

“Yup! My mother loves flowers. What’s yours?”

“...Nezumi. I’m from a forest.”

“Nezumi? You sure?” Shion asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course I’m sure,” Nezumi snaps, despite the situation. He stands, then walks a few steps closer to this new boy...this  _Shion_. “Why are you here? Why did we both come here?” Nezumi knows the landscape around him is nearly the exact opposite of where he just was. In reality, he shouldn’t be here. This was almost...too convenient.

“Why did I come here?” Shion thinks for a few moments. “Coincidence, maybe?”

“Cut it out,” Nezumi raises his voice. “I don’t buy that at all. I nearly  _died_. And then this stairway came out of nowhere. I followed it ‘cause I had no other choice. And then you healed me. You can’t just tell me that’s  _coincidence_.”

Chance, fate--both useless terms. But what else could one say to make sense of a situation as bizarre as this?

Shion’s face becomes serene and serious, looking directly at Nezumi this time, and the rat boy finds it slightly unnerving. There’s no joking in his tone as he says, “At first I thought I just wanted a change. And maybe I did, and I still do. But before I broke the glass, I felt something. Your voice. I’m sure of it.”

“I didn’t say anything, though. Too busy dying, remember?”

Shion shakes his head. “No. You called me, and I listened. I wouldn’t have thrown the kit down otherwise. That’s the truth.”

Nezumi becomes quiet. “So you think it’s fate, huh?”

“I don’t know if ‘fate’ is the best word. But something like that, yeah.”

“That somehow we were supposed to help each other?”

“That’s what I believe.”

Through the broken glass Nezumi’s stairs connect to Shion’s. It’s the same staircase, no doubt about it. And that means there’s only two ways to go: up or down.

Shion stretches out his hand. “I’m not sure what it is, but I find myself drawn to you. So why don’t we stick together, for a little bit?”

“That’s such an embarrassing thing to say.”

“Come on, now’s not the time for that. I did just save your life, after all.”

“You really are a strange one. Didn’t Momma ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”

“Not really, since you’re the first stranger I met.”

“There isn’t anyone else on the moon? You live up there like a little prince, all by yourself?”

“I have Mom. And the stars.”

“Well, I’m sure they’re such chatterboxes.”

“You wouldn’t believe.” Shion stretches his hand out again. “You can see for yourself.”

Nezumi looks at his hand--small, delicate, unscarred. A hand that has known nothing but love. If he took this hand, would he, too, become cleaner? Or would he simply taint it?

“You really are...interesting.”

Nezumi can’t deny it. He, too, feels pulled to the soft smiling boy before him, stretching out his hand so innocuously you’d think he’d never had anything bite back at him once in his life.

It’s enrapturing.

And Nezumi feels as though he can’t do anything but take the offering, can’t do anything but accept this boy into his life.

So he takes Shion’s hand,

and pulls him 

down.


End file.
